Murder in Paradise
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Gibbs and the team find themselves in pursuit of a sadistic killer.


A/N: Written for the NCIS Fanfiction Addiction (NFA) White Elephant Exchange. My prompts were submitted by akaeve. I selected her 3rd choice which was to have a story using the title Murder in Paradise and some form of that theme throughout. This is my first ever case fic.

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**Disclaimer**: I own nothing of, or relating to, NCIS. Just having a bit of fun.

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**Murder in Paradise**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

"Grab your gear. We've got a dead Marine at the Paradise Theater on Erie Street Southeast." Gibbs' barked command elicited immediate action out of his agents as they all stood and pulled backpacks and weapons from their drawers.

"Boss, did you say the Paradise Theater?" queried Tony as he hefted his backpack over one shoulder and holstered his gun.

Gibbs' steps slowed only slightly as he glanced over his shoulder at his Senior Field Agent. "I did. There something I need to know, DiNozzo?"

"No. Just been there a few times, that's all."

The team quickly left the Navy Yard and headed to their latest crime scene. Once there, the local LEOs conceded territory with little fuss, maintaining the perimeter while NCIS made their way inside.

Pausing in front of the giant screen, Tony's gaze roamed the old-fashioned theater that had clearly been lovingly and painstakingly restored to its former glory. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Ahhhh, I'd forgotten how much I love this place."

Tim McGee, a few steps ahead, stopped and turned around. "What?"

"This place! It's like a palace! I mean, look at it!" Tony gestured at the plush red seats, high ceiling decked with gilded frescoes circling a sparkling chandelier. "You know, this was how things looked when movie going was an _event_!" He dropped down into the seat nearest him and pulled in another breath. "Ahh, the smell of salty popcorn. It just permeates everything, right?" His gaze gravitated to the giant movie screen. "The last time I was here was when Gus was doing a retrospective of fantasy/sci-fi classics. Came to see _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_…"

DiNozzo would've continued to wax poetic about the grand old theater if not for the bellow of "DiNozzo!" from Gibbs. He popped up from the seat and followed McGee to the body, which was situated in the topmost row of seats, directly beneath the projection window. The corpse was seated; a bucket of popcorn in his lap, and his left hand was in the popcorn.

"Sorry, Boss." Tony extracted the camera and went to work snapping pictures of both the body and the crime scene while Tim and Ziva searched for, and subsequently collected, evidence.

"Got a wallet!" announced McGee as he picked up the leather billfold of the floor near the dead Marine's left heel. "Military ID says this is one Lance Corporal Jeremy Brett." He quickly bagged and tagged the wallet as evidence. "We'll see if the fingerprints confirm."

"Mr. Palmer, had you turned right a block earlier as I indicated, we could have missed all that falderal and been here long minutes ago!" Ducky's grousing announced his and Jimmy's arrival as they made their way up to the body's location. Jimmy good-naturedly responded with a perfectly logical explanation as to why he'd forgone the ME's directional advice.

Arriving at Gibbs' side, the medical examiner sighed. "I do apologize, Jethro. A rather unfortunate traffic mishap and underdeveloped sense of direction delayed our arrival."

Gibbs inclined his head and shifted his stance, all but pointing at the body. He raised his coffee cup to his lips without saying a thing.

Ducky made his way to the body, keen eyes already absorbing initial data. "Well, young man, what great scourge has befallen you?" he murmured.

"Maybe he was forced to watch _3 Days to Kill_…" quipped Palmer, who shifted nervously in the uncomfortable silence that followed. Shrugging, he bent over to join Ducky in his exam.

"What can you tell me, Duck?"

"Jethro! It has only been mere minutes," he scolded. "I'm afraid even I am not that good!"

"C'mon, Duck…I _know_ you, remember?"

The Scotsman sighed. "Indeed. Perhaps too well. Understand that these are educated guesses and nothing more at this point. Time of death? Sometime within the last 12 hours. Cause of death? Undetermined, but I do see ligature marks encircling his neck. I will know more once we get him home." He turned his attention back to the body.

"Anthony! Anthony!" The aggrieved call drew everyone's attention to a clearly distraught elderly man standing next to a police officer near one of the exit doors.

"I got it, Boss. It's Gus Faieta, the owner. I'll go question him."

"Take McGee with you."

"Come, Mr. Palmer, let's prepare our young Marine for his journey home."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs sailed into the team bullpen, a cup of fresh, hot coffee in hand. His lightning-quick gaze cutting to each of his agents in turn, stopping when he reached Tim McGee. "What've we got so far?"

McGee grabbed the remote and hit a button. Jeremy Brett's driver's license popped up on the giant screen. "Lance Corporal Jeremy Brett. Last seen two and a half weeks ago, the day _before_ going on a two-week leave. He was out with a couple of buddies at the Green Bear Bar. Both friends report they all left the bar around midnight. Bartender confirms. His friends report they went their separate ways once outside the bar, Lance Corporal Brett driving away in his 2004 Chevy Impala, he wasn't seen again until his body was discovered. There's no sign of the car."

Ziva jumped in to add to the narrative. "By all accounts, he was an exemplary Marine, with no disciplinary actions slapped against him. His CO had nothing but nice things to say about him. No record. No questionable history so far. It appears he has no bones in his closet."

Tony grinned. "Skeletons, Ziva. Skeletons."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Fine. It appears he has no _skeletons_ in his closet."

Gibbs scowled. "Keep digging. And find that car. DiNozzo?"

DiNozzo picked up the thread of investigation. "Yeah, Boss. Gus Faieta. Owner of the Paradise Theater. He reports that he closed up at 11:30 p.m. on Monday night and that was confirmed by the two-man cleaning crew who was loading their van when they saw Gus drive away. No signs of a body or anything else suspicious at that time. Gus arrived at 7:00 a.m. the next day and made the discovery."

"7:00 a.m.? Isn't that kinda early for a theater?"

"He often comes in early to get some paperwork done before the rest of the staff arrives. No wants/warrants. No record. Sold his trucking company five years ago. Bought the theater three years ago and refurbished it. Married for 35 years to one Dorinda Faieta, nee Lynda. Yes, you heard me right folks, she used to be Dooooorinda Lynda…"

"DiNozzo!"

Tony cleared his throat. "Sorry, Boss. Two grown children—one of each. No connection with any of them to Lance Corporal Brett that we can find. There were, however, some faint scratch marks on the lock of the back door that indicate the lock may have been picked. No fingerprints."

Gibbs nodded once and took a healthy swallow of coffee. "Keep at it."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

The door to the autopsy suite swished open with a mere whisper of sound. "Ah, Jethro," murmured Dr. Mallard, turning from the body on the autopsy table. "I deduced you'd be along presently."

"What've you got for me, Duck?"

"Our young Marine had much to tell us about his final days…and none of it good, I'm afraid. As you can see, in addition to the mark I noted when we recovered the body, he has ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. Made from different material than the one around his neck, which was made from rope. I found a few fibers in that wound that I duly provided to Abigail."

"Cause of death?"

"Strangulation."

"So he was tied up and strangled."

"On the face of things, yes. He appears to have suffered a blow to the back of the head—one hard enough to stun, but not to kill. He also shows signs of dehydration and malnourishment. He is bruised and battered with some superficial wounds on his arms, legs, and torso. Incidentally, there was no sign of the popcorn found at the scene in his stomach. "

"So that was all staged as we figured."

Ducky nodded. "Indeed. From soup to nuts as they say."

"Anything else?"

"Only that three of his fingers are broken on his right hand."

"Could've done that trying to escape."

"No, these breaks were clearly done postmortem."

Gibbs spun on his heel and headed out of Autopsy. Gut instinct was telling him that this case wasn't going to be easily or quickly solved.

Sadly, that proved true as the days and weeks passed, all leads dead-ended, and the case began to cool, dropping toward the bottom of the team's collective work pile. Justice for Lance Corporal Jeremy Brett began to look unattainable.

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Five weeks later, they were called out to another crime scene. Another body.

Lips pursed, Tony contemplated the body in front of him before lifting the camera once more and snapping pictures. She was propped in a chair at a table, hands wrapped around a cardboard cup of cold coffee, death-clouded eyes fixed on the sludgy brew.

Tony lowered the camera again, glancing over his shoulder. "Hey, Boss? You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"I don't know, DiNozzo—what are you thinking?"

"That this looks a whole lot like another staged scene…just like that Lance Corporal from a few weeks ago…"

Though his thoughts had been running along those same lines, Gibbs threw out a question. "What makes you say that?" Trusting his senior field agent's keen observation skills, Gibbs waited for Tony to articulate his perceptions.

"She's seated—only this time in a trendy little coffee shop with a cup of coffee in front of her. The cup itself is plain white cardboard—generic—doesn't match the ones used here that are imprinted with the name and logo of the coffee shop."

"Just like the popcorn bucket from the theater…"

"Just like the popcorn bucket…"

"Is'at all?"

"Well, that—and the ligature marks on her wrists." DiNozzo used a pen to carefully push aside one of the sleeves. "I've got a pretty good idea there's also a mark underneath that collar of her service uniform she's wearing."

"We'll know soon enough."

Just then McGee approached waggling the fingerprint scanner he was holding. "Got a name! Petty Officer Third Class Faye Mercer."

Gibbs lips tightened and his blue eyes grew flinty. "I want every inch of this place processed. And when you've looked once—look again," ordered Gibbs, "We need to figure out what the hell is going on."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

"Duck?" Gibbs' greeting was abrupt, half request and half demand.

Comfortably used to Jethro's intensity, especially during a murder investigation, Dr. Mallard spun away from the autopsy table on a jaunty heel. "Jethro! And young Anthony. I believe you both may be on to something." He motioned for the two men to come closer to the exam table.

Jethro's gaze traveled the length of the body lying supine on the autopsy table. He recognized that same look of frailness and defenselessness that shrouded every other body to have lain there. Man or woman, big or small, young or old. It didn't matter. When they ended up here, on this slab of cold metal, they all bore this same look. Even the criminals who passed through weren't spared this metaphoric enshroudment.

"As you can see, Jethro, our petty officer is covered in cuts and bruises and they appear to be consistent with those found on Lance Corporal Brett. Though somewhat more extensive." Ducky paused and pointed a finger. "Her ligature marks are also consistent with our previous findings."

"Head wound?" This came from Tony.

"No. I believe in this instance it was not necessary to subdue her with a blow to the head."

"Anything else?" asked Gibbs.

"There was no coffee in her stomach. Nor was there anything else. And four of her fingers on her right hand were broken."

"Postmortem?"

Ducky inclined his head. "Yes indeed."

Tony sucked in a breath. "He's keeping count."

Gibbs' expression became downright arctic. "Keeping count and toying with _us_."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

"McGee," Gibbs barked as he returned to the bullpen, pausing in the middle of the desks, "we need to find out if there have been any similar murders in the area. Murders outside our jurisdiction that are even remotely similar."

McGee looked up from his computer screen. "Boss?"

"My gut's telling me we might have a serial killer on our hands. If I'm right, he could be picking his next victim as we speak."

"On it, Boss."

"DiNozzo, I want you to go over the Brett and Mercer files with a fine-tooth comb. See if you can find any connection between the two. If McGee finds anything, add them to the mix."

"And me, Gibbs?" queried Ziva. "Is there a specific task you like me to do?"

"Check in with Abby. See if she's found anything from the Mercer scene. Bring her up to speed on the possible connection to Brett." Gibbs stalked out of the bullpen toward the stairs on his way to update Director Vance.

While Ziva scurried out of the bullpen on Gibbs' heels and McGee began to tap-tap-tap away at his keyboard beginning his search as instructed, Tony shut out the activity around him. He pulled the Brett and Mercer files closer and opened both simultaneously, preparing to do a side-by-side comparison if necessary in an effort to determine if any links between the two victims existed. He beat a slow tattoo with a pencil on the blank legal pad resting under his right hand.

"Yes!"

McGee's exclamation brought Tony back to the present, and he looked up from the legal pad where he'd been jotting notes. "McGruntled, you got something?"

Tim looked up from his computer screen. "Yeah, yeah. I think so. Two unsolved murders—one in Frederick, Maryland, and one in Reston, Virginia."

"Oh?"

"Both within the last six months. Both strangled, but noted to look battered. The first in Frederick, a prostitute, Missy Plank, found tied to a bed in a fleabag motel. The other a sophomore at Potomac College in Herndon. Found in his car parked along Paradise Alley in Reston."

"_Paradise Alley_? Ahh, decent movie for its time. Made in 1978, written by, directed by, and starring Sylvester Stallone back when he was in his prime—he played a big-talkin' hustler in Hell's Kitchen circa 1946." Tony sighed dramatically. "You wouldn't like it, McGeek—it's not animated like, say, your current favorite _Frozen_…"

"DiNozzo!"

Tony jumped, his gaze reluctantly seeking out Gibbs. He tensed for a tap to the back of the head that never materialized.

"You find anything?"

DiNozzo pointed an index finger at his own chest. "I haven't, but…" Tony's finger turned to point toward Tim, "McGee was just filling me in on something he's found."

Gibbs dropped into his desk chair, eyes now fixed on McGee. "And?"

McGee quickly repeated everything he'd just told Tony, adding "Paul Cornish was found in the driver's seat, with his…uh…pants down and his hand wrapped around his…uhhh…" Tim paused, his cheeks shading pink. "His…" McGee cleared his throat. "…penis."

Gibbs' gaze narrowed. "Did either of them have any broken fingers?"

"It…it doesn't say here."

"Find out."

"On it." Tim's fingers flew over his keyboard.

An odd, intense look suddenly crossed DiNozzo's face. "McGee, you said Cornish was found on Paradise Alley?"

Still typing, McGee replied, "Yeah."

"And you said Missy Plank was found in a fleabag motel. What was the name of the motel?"

"Little busy here, Tony."

"It's important."

McGee sighed. "Fine." He paused and switched back to an earlier screen, scrolling back through the report. "It was the Paradise Peak Motel."

"That's it," Tony mumbled as he began to rapidly page through both folders in front of him. "Boss, that's the connection!" DiNozzo stabbed a finger at a page in Jeremy Brett's file and then one in Mercer's file. "Paradise. Plank was found at the Paradise Peak Motel, Cornish parked on Paradise Alley, Brett was found in the Paradise Theater, and Mercer was found at the Café Paradizo."

"And Gibbs," McGee chimed in, "according to their autopsy reports, Missy Plank's right thumb was broken and Cornish's right thumb _and_ index finger were broken."

Jethro's already grim expression hardened even further. "A serial killer who thinks he has a sense of humor."

Strolling back into the bullpen, Ziva pulled up short, feeling the tension emanating from Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee. "I missed something—something big, yes?"

McGee grimaced. "Tony just made an important connection between our cases. But just like our victims…it couldn't be any more random."

Gibbs' growled low in his throat, a scowl forming between his brows. "His victims may be random, McGee, but his choice of dumping grounds isn't. To the killer, they have all the meaning in the world."

Tony leaned back in his chair, tossing his pencil down on one of the folders. "The question now is—how do we catch this bastard? Sheer luck?"

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby Sciuto bounded into the bullpen in her typical enthusiastic style, the ponytail high on her head swinging to and fro. She was waving a piece of paper.

"You find something, Abs?"

"Bioparticles!"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow as he stood and made his way around his desk, coming to a standstill in front of his ebullient forensic technician.

"Specifically mucus." Abby paused with a triumphant smile.

"Abs…"

"Okay, more specifically mucus expelled during sternutation!"

"A sneeze?" muttered Gibbs.

Abby nodded. "I found a tiny, but not-too-tiny-for-Abby-Sciuto, spot on Faye Mercer's collar."

Tony jumped in. "So you're saying our perp sneezed all over our victim?" His question ended with a somewhat incredulous chuckle.

"Well, yes and no. Yes, he sneezed, but not all over the victim. You know how we're taught to sneeze into the bend of our elbow?" At the round of agreeable nods, Abby continued. "We're taught to do that so we don't spread germs—diseases—like that nasty flu Sister Tallulah had last week and worse. He—your perp—did that. Or some variation of that. BUT, doing this…" Abby paused and mimicked a sneeze into her elbow, "rarely, if ever, catches _all_ the mucosal droplets. I could show you some really super scary disgusting videos…"

"So he tried to block his sneeze but unbeknownst to him a few drops got through and landed on Faye Mercer's collar," McGee concluded.

Abby spun on one platformed heel and threw up a finger. "Exactly!" Turning back to Gibbs she said, "I was able to analyze it," Abby's wine red lips quirked into a half frown, "but there were no matches in any database."

"No record, no lead," muttered Tony.

"Noooo, DiNozzo, that would've been too easy," replied Gibbs in turn. "This guy's just never been caught, probably thinks he's invincible…" Jethro turned from his team and stalked behind his desk. "We need the files and the evidence on the first two murders. I want everything gone over with a fine-tooth comb. I refuse to believe this bastard is that good. Ziva, track the missing persons reports in the area in and around DC. We need to know if he makes another move."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Due to some political wrangling and jurisdictional disputes, it took five frustrating days for the respective files and evidence to finally make its way to the team at NCIS. Boxes, boxes, and more boxes rolled in, some landing on Tony's desk, some on Tim's, and some on Ziva's. The rest were delivered to Abby in her lab. Each individual, armed with their own due diligence checklist, dived into their assignments, all aware of the ticking of the clock toward another atrocity.

Hours later, Tony stabbed his chopsticks into his container of cooling Cheng Du Chicken and sat back with a sigh. He rubbed at his bleary eyes. "Tim-bo, you got anything? 'Cause, man, I'm tellin' you, I've got a big fat _zero_. As far as Missy Plank goes, sad to say but it looks like the FPD figured a kinky john had probably done the deed and that was that."

Chewing and swallowing the bite of Vegetable Fried Rice he'd just taken, McGee started to shake his head no but stopped. "Wait, wait—I just might!" Everyone perked up as he turned the page in the file he was perusing. "Reston PD initially had a person of interest—turned suspect—in the Cornish murder. His best friend, in fact. Elijah Waters…"

Gibbs' phone rang, and McGee paused in his narrative. His fingers tapped keys on his keyboard.

"_Gibbs!"_ Abby's voice resonated over the telephone line. _"Guess what! There was a hair. I mean, they found a hair. In Cornish's car! It belonged to…"_

The screen between Tim's and Tony's desks came to life, a mug shot filling the space.

"Elijah Waters," Gibbs finished.

"_Yes! How did you know?"_ cried Abby, thoroughly deflated. _"Well, duh. You're Gibbs. You always know."_ Abby hung up still extoling Jethro's preternatural crime-fighting virtues.

Tim stood and pointed at the screen. "Elijah Waters. By all accounts, Cornish's best friend and college roommate. He was a suspect for a short while…"

"Because they found his hair in Cornish's car…" supplied Gibbs, sharing what Abby had just told him on the phone.

"Riiight. But he had a rock-solid alibi for the time of the murder. The lead detective though noted Waters was 'squirrelly'—his word, not mine—when it came down to the murder. For whatever that's worth."

"Why didn't they…"

Ziva, who had been listening and checking her computer, suddenly spoke. "Gibbs, I am sorry to interrupt, but we may have another missing Marine. PFC Candace Peeler. A missing persons report just hit the wire. She disappeared four days ago."

Steel-eyed, Gibbs swung around and pointed at the screen. "I want to talk to this guy—this Elijah Waters. We need to find him—get him in here."

"Boss," McGee responded, "finding him isn't a problem. He's currently in Arlington County lock up on drug charges. Getting him transferred him here might be a problem…"

"It won't be," muttered Gibbs as he picked up the phone and dialed Vance's home number.

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Gibbs strolled into the interrogation room, manila folder in hand and Tony following at his heels. He kept his gaze on the rumpled figure of Elijah Waters as he rounded the table, yanked out a chair and sank into it. He placed the folder on the table in front of him, tapped his fingers on top of it. After a few seconds, the tapping came to a sudden stop.

"Why'd you do it?"

Waters blinked sleep-puffed eyes. "Do what?"

Gibbs opened the folder, extracted a couple of photos and dropped them in front of Waters. "Why'd you kill your best friend, Paul Cornish?"

Waters' eyes widened. "What?"

Tony leaned forward. "C'mon, you know you beat him up a little, cut him up a little, then wrapped a rope around his neck and you pulled…and twisted…pulled some more. 'Til he was dead. Then you put him in his car, left him in that disgusting pose to be found…" said Tony, his voice gravelly and raspy from both fatigue and frustration.

"No! No! Dude, I-I had an alibi! I didn't kill him."

"Well, _dude_, that's the funny thing about alibis…"

"…sometimes they don't hold up." Gibbs finished DiNozzo's sentence.

"I swear! I was at the campus library all day that day!"

DiNozzo snorted. "Oh, please. With the internet, who goes to the library anymore?"

"I-i-it was a special project. And, dude, it sucked! But you can check—you can check—I was there."

"So you're completely innocent, hmm?" mused Tony.

"Yes!"

Gibbs pulled out more photos and placed each of them with an audible slap in front of Elijah. "What about these people? What do you know about them?"

Waters' mouth opened and closed several times. "Th-they're dead?" He swallowed hard. "Oh, man…" Elijah's fingers tangled in his mussed hair. "No, no, no…"

The team leader leaned in close. "What do you know, Elijah?"

"N-n-nothing."

Gibbs' palm hit the table with a loud thwack causing Elijah to jump. "What do you know?!"

"I-I…"

"Four people are dead, Elijah. FOUR. And we have another person missing. Probably victim number five. You know something—tell me what it is."

Elijah Waters dropped his head into his hands. "I-I might know who it is," he mumbled between splayed fingers.

Gibbs' head quirked to the side. "Say again."

Elijah flung his head backward and he stared at the ceiling. "He'll kill me if he finds out I said anything."

DiNozzo shifted forward in his chair. "He won't find out."

"You don't know Wyatt."

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

_Wyatt Ray Webb._

As Tony checked his weapon a final time, he reflected on Elijah Waters' words back in the interrogation room hours ago.

_He's got these eyes, man. Eyes—like—like he can see everything about you._

_He's mean—like a snake, you know? He sorta smiles at you one second and then—wham!—his fingers are just there around your throat._

_The girls though—the girls love him. Never could figure that out._

_One of my friends, Sonja, she showed up one day with these marks on her throat. Said Wyatt got a little rough during sex…"_

_Paul didn't like him. Thought he was mega creepy. When—when he—Paul—was first found—I th-thought of Wyatt. It kinda seemed like something he'd do, you know? But I figured I was just imagining things._

DiNozzo's gaze drifted to Gibbs and he nodded. Receiving a nod in return, Tony shifted his gaze to Ziva and Tim and saw their acknowledgements as well.

"On three," breathed Gibbs. He executed a silent count with his fingers.

The agents charged the door. "NCIS!"

Ziva and Tim advanced deeper into the apartment while Tony swung left into the kitchen.

"_Clear!"_

"_Clear!"_

"_Clear!"_

Tony returned to Gibbs' side, holstering his weapon at the same time as his boss.

"Damn it, where the hell is this bastard?" Gibbs growled.

The team began a search of the spartan space for any clues. The sounds of doors and drawers sliding open and shut filled the apartment.

Tony was perusing one of the few photos along one wall when he suddenly straightened. He reached for a photo and pulled it off the wall. "Hey, Boss," DiNozzo walked to Gibbs, arm extended. "There might be something here." The photo showed an unsmiling couple with their arms around an equally grim-faced boy. The trio stood in front of a well-worn, oft-painted wooden building flanked by several trees.

"What makes you think so?" asked Gibbs.

"Take a look at the flyer clutched in the boy's hand."

Pulling the photo closer to his face, Gibbs squinted at area indicated. At the top of the crumpled sheet of paper he was able to make out 'CA…' in the first word and 'PA—R—D—S—' in the second word. After a moment's consideration, he raised an eyebrow and said, "You think it says 'Camp Paradise'?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do. It also looks like there's a sign over the door. You can just make out an 'SE' at the very edge."

"McGee! Call Abby. See what she can find out about a _Camp Paradise_."

While McGee made the phone call, Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs continued a cursory search of the apartment turning up nothing of import.

"Boss, Abby struck gold. Camp Paradise. A campground about an hour from here. Closed about ten years ago after some bad press. Land ownership has been in dispute since and the property essentially sits abandoned."

"He was leading us to his playground all along," muttered Gibbs. "How do we get there?"

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Dawn was just blushing the horizon as the team approached the campground and decanted from their respective vehicles. There were no immediate signs of life anywhere other than a trill or two from overly enthusiastic birds perched high in the trees welcoming the dawn of a new day. Many of the buildings had been demolished before the legal disputes had set in, and only the main building and two tiny, one-room cabins remained. Quickly eliminating the cabins, the team's sole focus turned to the big building that had served as a cafeteria, recreational area, and office when the camp had been active.

Peering through the windows, Tim and Tony both shook their heads, indicating no sign of movement within the gloomy confines. Gibbs nodded and mouthed "Go."

Easing open the front door, they slipped inside with guns drawn. David and McGee angled left while DiNozzo and Gibbs went to the right. With two fingers close to his chest, Tony indicated he was heading to the back room/office area.

Creeping down the hall, Tony's gaze quickly traveled each nook and cranny, noting a number of half closed doors. He'd just cleared the first little alcove when he heard the faint creak of a floorboard behind him. It was the only warning he had before a rope suddenly slipped around his neck and immediately tightened. His free hand instinctively reached up to claw at the constriction. Planting his feet, DiNozzo shoved himself backward into his captor, hoping to throw him off balance. It partially worked but the rope didn't loosen. Then suddenly his attacker froze in place and Gibbs' growl penetrated the roaring Tony's ears.

"Let him go…" Gibbs held his gun pressed to Wyatt Ray Webb's temple. "Or I put a bullet in your brain."

Webb released the rope and DiNozzo stumbled forward a few steps but quickly turned, training his weapon on Webb, allowing Gibbs the freedom to handcuff the alleged killer.

"Hands behind your head," Gibbs ordered. Webb slowly complied, and Gibbs made quick work of handcuffing him.

Once Webb was secure, Tony rubbed at the faint rope burn on his throat and rasped, "The girl?"

"Ziva found her. She's okay," replied Gibbs.

"Mmm. More's the pity," murmured Webb slyly.

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

Much later at NCIS, Gibbs sat across the table from Wyatt Ray Webb in one of the interrogation rooms. They'd sat in silence for a good fifteen minutes, each dispassionately observing the other. Finally, Gibbs spoke.

"Why'd you do it?" He slapped down the pictures of the victims in front of Webb. "Why did you kill them?"

"Hmmm. Did I?"

"We have evidence that says you did."

Webb cocked his head. "Evidence? I find that quite…surprising."

"We know you did it. You tortured and strangled Missy Plank," as Gibbs spoke he pointed to each picture in turn, "Paul Cornish, Jeremy Brett, and Faye Mercer." He watched as Webb's gaze drifted to each photo while a slight grin curved his lips. "What I'd like to know is why?"

Webb sat up straight, his reptilian gaze now locked on Gibbs' face. He licked his lips and a fuller, crueler grin returned as ego outstripped caution. He tented his fingers, methodically tapping each finger on one hand against its counterpart on the other hand. "Would it make you feel better if I said _because I could_?"

Gibbs' adopted a faux-incredulous expression. "It's that simple? You did it because you could?"

Sly, treacherous shadows flickered in Webb's eyes. "Well, that and because it was…fun. There's nothing like that feeling in the world."

"Why paradise?"

Webb's tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "That was a nice touch, don't you think?"

"Why that particular connection?"

"It all seemed rather poetic in a way. Their Hell is nothing short of my paradise. My only regret?"

"What's that?"

"You spoiled all my fun. For now anyway." His mouth formed a little moue of disappointment, but his eyes sparkled with an evil mischief.

Without another word, Jethro gathered the pictures and the files, stood, and walked calmly out of the room.

_**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**(NCIS)**_

The key turned in the lock and Tony pushed open the door to his apartment. He secured his weapon then slipped out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Exhaustion dogged his every step as he fed Kate, who swam quite contentedly around her bowl. After murmuring a few sweet nothings to the goldfish, Tony grabbed a beer and a piece of cold pizza from the fridge, wincing at his first sip when his sore throat twinged.

In the living room, he dropped boneless onto the couch and reached for the remote. Though exhausted from the near round-the-clock hours spent on this last case, he was still too keyed up to crawl into bed and get any meaningful sleep. Thinking a couple of mindless hours in front of the TV might help; he keyed the remote and effortlessly located his favorite classic movie channel. He was happy to see it was the top of the hour and a new movie was just beginning.

Settling back, he dropped the remote next to him and picked up the pizza. He nibbled at the pizza, savoring the spicy pepperoni and sausage, as he watched the opening credits roll. Tony's mouth dropped open mid-bite when the stylized title card filled the screen. _Lew Ayres and Greta Garbo starring in Murder in Paradise._

With a shudder, DiNozzo fumbled for the remote and hurriedly pressed the "Off" button. He'd had more than enough of _that_ lately. In the silence, he polished off the last of his beer and pizza before standing and heading for the bedroom.

_Maybe bed isn't such a bad idea after all._

_**FIN**_


End file.
